


Ever Since New York

by flowersandcigars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: No smut sadly, Some Fluff, Some angst, also i hope this is canon lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:36:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10698108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersandcigars/pseuds/flowersandcigars
Summary: 2 years after Zayn left the band, New York.Zayn has been living there for some time, and guess who's currently there for his first ever solo performance?





	Ever Since New York

**Author's Note:**

> I wish this was canon lmao I hate myself

Zayn doesn't know what to do.

He knows he doesn't always know what to do, and he accepts that. But now, he _really_ doesn't know what to do. He has absolutely no fucking idea and he hates it.

He's besides himself. He's been fidgeting on his bed - the one he shares with his girlfriend, for god's sake - thinking of this certain someone. Someone from his past he thought he'd never think of again, someone he knows and accepts will never talk to him again.

But that someone is in the same city as him, for once, and the world just seems very small to him.

God, this is suffocating.

He needs air. Does he? He can't even think straight, so probably yes.

He turns to his sleeping girlfriend. She looks so peaceful, curling beside him with her hands tucked under his pillow. He presses a light kiss on her forehead, and goes to scribble a note in case she wakes up while he's still gone.

He does need that air, it seems like.

 

\--

 

New York is cold.

That first hit of cold wind almost knocks him out. He's almost forgotten how cold it is, at 3 am in the morning. It does him good, though. He can never stand the heat. Unlike this someone, who loves it. If he didn't why would he stay in goddamn Los Angeles all the time while Zayn's bunkered up here, in the cold of New York?

Zayn stops at his tracks. He's been wandering off mindlessly for a while, he realises he doesn't know where he is. Fuck. Where to go? What to do?

Deep down, he knows what to do. It's probably his chance. It would be easy, he's just one call away and Zayn knows, he'd come if Zayn wants him to. He's too kind and polite to refuse.

Then why's Zayn afraid to see him?

That's an easy question, really. Because the last time Zayn saw him, he was in tears and that was the first time Zayn ever made him cry. Because the last time Zayn saw him, he asked him to leave and Zayn did.

And Zayn wishes he hadn't left him, more than he wishes for anything else.

Zayn looks down to his phone. He has his girlfriend on his homescreen, and most of the time, it makes him smile. This time it doesn't. He sighs, and he types _his_ name, checking if he's actually here.

According to the news, he is.

Of course he is. So this is his chance.

Zayn starts to type his number - who would've thought he'd still remember it after almost two years? - and fidgets on his feet while waiting for him to pick up.

'Hello?'

'Harry?'

Silence.

Still silence.

Still fucking silence.

Zayn panics. He's not one to panic, but dammit, this time he panics.

'Are you there?'

Zayn can hear him take a sharp breath. He crosses his finger, waiting for that click sound of Harry hanging up. But it doesn't come. Instead, he hears a shuffle and a muffled voice.

'Yeah, 'm here.'

'Are you in New York?' Zayn asks stupidly, knowing full well he is.

'I am. You probably know that already, don't you?' Harry chuckles darkly.

'Wanna go for a drink?'

'A drink?'

'Yeah... like a beer or summat. And talk. Like old times.'

'Zayn..' Harry sighs. 'You know I don't even drink beer.'

'Scotch then. Wine. Champagne. Coffee. Tea. I'll even drink that disgusting green juice you used to drink all the time.'

Silence again.

'Alright. Jeff knows a place... I'll text you the address.'

'Okay,' Zayn huffs out a relieved breath.

'You sure you'll be there?' Harry asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. 'Won't be the first time you don't show up when you're supposed to.'

That stings. Zayn chooses to ignore it, because as much as he hates it, Harry was right.

'I'll be there.'

Click.

 

\--

 

Harry is besides himself.

He absolutely didn’t expect Zayn to just call him up like that. It’s definitely not a secret that he’s in New York, the world knows that he is. Damn Zayn. Can’t he choose a better timing to fuck up his mind? Harry doesn’t need this from him, not now, so close to his _first_ performance as a solo artist. Zayn, of all people, should know that.

Apparently he doesn’t.

So now Harry’s standing in front of the pub he and Jeff frequent, unsure. He texts Jeff, letting him know that he’s out and will be back in no time. That somehow makes him uneasy. Will thirty minutes be enough? Will he have enough time to recover and smile in time for his performance? Will he get through this? Why can’t Zayn choose a better time? He’s been here for three days, for god’s sake.

God, what a twat.

But that twat was a big part of Harry’s past, a big part of who he is now. Harry owes it to himself to just meet him and get over it. He’ll do it. At least he feels in control.

Not like the last time he was with Zayn. He had cried and begged and pleaded and he had done everything to make Zayn stay. But he left anyway. Harry was mad, of course he was. He felt betrayed, and hurt, like his heart was ripped out of his chest. But he lived. He lived, he survived, and he can still remember it. He can still hear Zayn’s voice on his phone after Harry told him to leave.

Harry hates to admit that it hurt him. It hurt him that Zayn left when Harry told him to.

Those fucking voicemails.

 

_'Harry, please, pick up the phone.'_

_'Harry. I need to talk to you.'_

_'Harry, I know you're mad. Just talk to me.'_

_'Harry...'_

_'You know what? I've tried. I really have. This is going to be the last message I will leave you. If you feel like talking, you know where I am.'_

_Harry didn't delete the voicemails. Not for a long time. His heart ached at the sound of Zayn's voice, pleading, because Zayn never pleads, but he did for him. Harry knew it in his heart, if he had heard Zayn saying his name, with that flicker of his long lashes, he would’ve taken him back in a heartbeat._

_Harry didn’t want to take him back in a heartbeat._

_So he waited and he waited and he waited until it was too late._

_And then the phone stopped ringing._

_Zayn’s gone._

 

And now he’s here, in the same city as him.

 

\--

 

To Zayn’s surprise, the pub Harry chooses is not some swanky place. It’s small and ordinary, like some pubs he saw in his hometown when he was a kid. Through the window, he can see Harry sitting on the bar, smiling and chatting with the bartender. Of course he is. The whole pub probably knows him and wants to die for him. Charming fucker. He always hates and loves him for it.

Zayn has to come in at some point, right? Not just stress pacing and watching Harry smile and laugh from the window. He promised Harry he’ll come, so he’ll come. He owes Harry this. He knows that. So he takes a deep breath and pushes the piece of wood that separates him and the air Harry breathes.

Harry notices him coming right away. Of course. It hurts when he sees Harry’s smile turn into a slight frown. It absolutely kills him, because Harry used to flash the brightest smile when he came into the room.

It just dawns on him that they can probably never go back to the way it is.

But that’s something to deal with later.

‘Hi,’ Zayn props himself on the stool next to Harry. ‘What do you have?’

‘Scotch,’ Harry gives him a rather sour smile. ‘Neat.’

‘I’ll have what he has,’ Zayn tells the bartender, who nods and shuffles away.

Silence.

Before, with Harry, Zayn loved the silence between them. It’s rare for him to be comfortable sharing a silence with someone, and Harry was it for him. Someone he could share comfortable silence with. Before, Harry would prop his head on Zayn’s lap, reading books Zayn never quite understood, while Zayn’s humming to whatever tune was stuck on his head that time. And they would stay that way for hours and hours and hours.

It’s only been five minutes and Harry already breaks their silence.

‘Do you mind?’ Harry’s hardened voice makes Zayn turn his head.

‘Huh?’ Zayn frowns.

‘You may have all night, but I don’t. I have to get back to my hotel in thirty minutes,’ Harry explains himself, with a tiny bit of impatience in his voice.

‘Alright…’ Zayn huffs. ‘Hear me out, will you?’

‘Well, I’m here,’ Harry says with mock politeness.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For leaving?’ Harry snorts. ‘Your _solo_ album says hi.’

‘No,’ Zayn flicks a glance to the drink the bartender just set down. ‘I can’t be sorry for leaving, Harry. I had to do that.’

‘Don’t you think I knew that?’ Harry asks quietly. ‘Don’t you think I knew you enough to know that?’

‘Harry…’

‘You don’t get to do this,’ Harry turns his head away. ‘You don’t get to do me like this.’

‘Do what? I’m trying to apologise here.’

‘You’re trying to ease your guilt!’ Harry snaps. ‘There’s a difference. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to fucking hurt me to hell and back and leave and apologise just because it will put your fucking mind at rest.’

‘I can’t be sorry for leaving. I meant that,’ Zayn pauses. ‘But I can be sorry for the way I did it.’

‘It’s been two years. I’m over it. I’m over you,’ Harry downs his drink and Zayn hates it, he really does, when Harry does it. Harry never downs his drink. He sips it, trying to get the taste on his tongue and cherish it. He never drinks to get drunk. And when he does, it’s because he needs to get drunk.

Zayn knows this.

‘Are you done?’ Harry nearly slams his glass to the bar.

‘No. Stay a minute.’

‘Alright. Clock’s ticking.’

‘Do you remember our first fight?’ Zayn mutters the question softly.

‘No,’ Harry retorts stubbornly.

‘Well, I do. I was in your bed, and you were talking about how you used to go bird watching with your dad, back in your hometown. And you missed it, you missed your dad and you missed the luxury of being able to call him to go bird watching anytime… and I fell asleep. You were so mad. It was a vulnerable moment for you, but I fell asleep. Remember?’

‘Maybe..,’ Harry’s voice softened, shrugging.

He remembers that little scene like it just happened yesterday.

 

_'Harry, please come out.'_

_'....'_

_'Harry please just talk to me. Don't be a child.'_

_'A child?' Harry hissed, fuming. He'd show Zayn a child. He wanted a child, he'd get one. So Harry kept his back on the door, to prevent Zayn from coming in._

_'Don't lock me out...' Zayn muttered quietly, his forehead leaning against the door._

_'Harry...'_

_'Come on. I'll make you a cuppa. How you like it, with milk and no sugar even though it's disgusting.'_

_'Okay, it's not disgusting. Talk to me. Please.'_

_'Harry... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have fallen asleep when you were talking about important things.'_

_Harry jerked his door open abruptly, sending Zayn forward. Zayn tried to play it cool, standing straight but his foot was fidgeting and Harry noticed._

_'Did you mean it?'_

_'Mean what?'_

_'Did you really think my "rambles",' Harry makes air quotes sarcastically, 'is important?'_

_'Yes. Because you're important to me. I thought you knew that. I'm sorry.'_

_'Okay.'_

_'Hug it out?' Zayn spread his arms open, a pitiful grin forming._

_Harry rolled his eyes, but he let Zayn wrap him anyway. It was awkward, because Harry is taller than him, but strangely, Harry was snug in his arms. Harry sighed while Zayn stroked him lightly on the back. Like he was both trying to get comfort and giving it._

_'You're important to me too,' Harry mumbled against Zayn's temple._

_'I know.'_

 

‘You kicked me out of your room, and locked it. You never locked it. I was banging on your door, asking, begging you to come out and talk to me. You know I’m not a begging person, right? But I did that time,’ Zayn rambles on. ‘Like I do now.’

‘Do you remember?’ Zayn asks again.

‘I can’t believe you remembered that,’ Harry shakes his head.

‘Of course I do. I told you... I told you you were important to me. Do you think I was lying?’

‘I..,’ Harry stammers. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Look, I loved you, you know that? I still do. I wasn’t kidding, I wasn’t just saying it when I said you were my rock. It fucking hurt, goddamn it, it fucking hurt when I had to leave you. When I had to leave you to deal with my mess. I tried to stay away for a bit because I thought you needed a space from me, and for some selfish reasons I didn’t want you to see what a fucking mess I was…’ Zayn trails off. ‘It was a mistake.’

Harry stares at him, eyes wide, mouth parted. He gulps audibly, and casts his eyes down.

‘It was,’ Harry mumbles, his voice a touch of whisper. ‘It really was a mistake.’

Zayn doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets Harry hang onto the silence. Harry plays with his rings, a nervous gesture Zayn has come to know well.

‘I’m not asking you to take me back like it’s nothing. I just want..,’ Zayn huffs. ‘Something.’

‘I’m not asking for happiness,’ Harry murmurs, ‘Just a little less pain.’

‘Bukowski,’ Zayn smiles a little. ‘You said that a lifetime ago.’

Harry huffs out a breath.

‘I didn’t blame you,’ Harry says slowly, quietly. ‘It just hurt that you didn’t trust me enough with your demons. I thought you trusted me. I thought you would let me help. I thought you would let me fix it. I might not have succeeded, but we’ll never know now, will we?’

‘No,’ Zayn shakes his head. ‘We won’t.’

Harry’s green eyes meet Zayn’s gold ones. A tiny bit of smile hovers on Harry’s lips, but at the same time tears clouds his eyes. It makes Zayn tears up at the sight of it, knowing well he is, once again, the cause of those tears. If only he can turn back time… But he can’t.

‘Harry, look, I’m…’ Zayn starts.

‘I loved you too.’

It takes Zayn by surprise. Misty eyed, Harry reaches to squeeze Zayn's hand. Zayn knows this is the closest he can get to forgiveness, the closest he can get to what used to be his reality -  _their reality ._

So he takes it.

'Thank you.'

 

\--

 

‘Stop being such a twat from now on, okay?’ Harry slides a bill on the table.

‘Good luck for tomorrow,’ Zayn pauses. ‘I like your song.’

‘I like yours too, thank you,’ Harry returns the compliment with sincerity.

‘No you don’t,’ Zayn chuckles.

Harry shrugs and grins. Zayn notices the grin doesn’t even reach his sad, green eyes, and he hates himself for it.

‘I’m sorry for everything…’ Harry trails off. ‘I gotta go.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

Harry squeezes Zayn’s arm lightly and plants his lips delicately to Zayn’s scratchy face.

Zayn hesitates, but then decides to take his chance and wraps Harry in his arms. For old times’ sake, and because it’s what they do. Or used to do anyway. He lets out a relieved breath when Harry doesn’t pull away and buries his face in Zayn’s shoulder instead.

‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ he whispers to Zayn’s ear. He pulls back, smiling, this time his smile reaches his eyes. ‘Alright?’

‘Alright.’

‘See you… somehow.’

‘Enjoy New York.’

‘I will.’

And with that, Harry’s gone. Zayn can still feel the heat of Harry’s body against his chest, the warmth of his lips on his cheekbones. He will have to cling on to that for the rest of his life for the slightest proof of Harry’s heart.

And that’s okay.

He’s okay.


End file.
